


It Aches When It Rains

by orphan_account



Series: You're my beacon [2]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempt at Humor, Eventual Fluff, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Stephen Strange, I'm Sorry, Insecure Tony Stark, Insecurity, M/M, Post-Break Up, The Cloak of Levitation needs its character tag, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 00:16:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18767281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “How much longer do you plan on standing in the rain? You’ll catch a cold. And you're without an umbrella,” Stephen grumbles, opening the door with a careful movement of his index finger.





	It Aches When It Rains

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing too much. It's becoming quantity over quality, which I apologise for. Anyways, I humbly thank all my readers for taking the time to look at my works!

“How much longer do you plan on standing in the rain? You’ll catch a cold. And you're without an umbrella,” Stephen grumbles, opening the door with a careful movement of his index finger. “You know very well that the enchantments let you in on their own, I expected you to enter at your whim.”

Snapping his fingers and producing bright orange sparks, he waits impatiently (maybe a little anxiously) for his… _established_ guest to enter the spacious, yet dusty, room that he’s spent some time rushedly clearing up with the help of his Cloak and magic. It accounts for some of the delay in answering the visitor, but admittedly not all. The other factor is his own unwillingness.

“I didn’t want to impose,” comes a gruff voice, followed by the clearing of a throat. Tony Stark’s glistening, water-slicked body soon enters the comparably brighter room hesitantly. Stephen lets out a short bark of sharp laughter, eyes mocking even as he lets the hot lines of magic (that’s the shade of neon pumpkin) wrap loosely around the other, not touching but enough for him to feel the warmth. Like a magical dryer.

Once he’s done drying Tony off, Stephen plucks a glass filled with amber liquid out of thin air and uses his magic once more to set it on the table, not trusting his trembling hands to carry out the task well enough. Turning around to look at him with an icy smile, he gestures at the large gray sofa, “Sit. You’ve already imposed well enough.”

When he’s sure that the elder’s done what he _requested_ , he seats himself in an armchair, facing the brunette with an almost impressively emotionless face. “State your purpose in five words or less.”

“I misjudged you, Stephen Strange.” There’s rattling as the cup skids to a stop in front of Tony sloppily, spilling a couple of drops of strong fragrance which soon disappear.

“Glad to see you’ve joined the majority of the population, then. Congratulations, I’ll print you a badge. Now, I’ll hand you an umbrella and you can go on your way.”

He knows he’s being an irritating, petulant child, but he doesn’t care. He thinks that he deserves that much, at the very least. After all, the last time they met- it wasn’t pretty, to put it nicely. It was a mixture of insecurity and accusations. All the basics.

Tony tries again, his tone a shade more desperate, “Please, Stephen. I just wanted to protect you. I didn’t want you to do something rash. I underestimated your strength. I- I underestimated… us.”

_”Hell, Stephen. This wasn’t meant to happen. There wasn’t meant to be an ‘us’.”_

The Sorcerer sucks in a quiet breath, face impassive as he collects himself. He finally spits, “You told me that you couldn’t do it anymore. You told me that you weren’t worth me risking my life for. You told me that- that you were afraid that I wouldn’t love you when everything came crashing down, that it was a mistake, that you were _sorry_. How do you think I _felt_?”

“I-”

“Goddamn it, Tony. I can’t have this conversation right now,” Stephen whispers, the surge of fury he’d momentarily felt subsiding with his outburst. Memories of the argument flicker inside his mind like the broken CD of a tragic movie, and his eyes sting annoyingly. 

_”When this shatters, who’s going to love me, huh? Who are_ you _going to love?”_

There’s silence in the suddenly too-small space, pressing down like an unbearably heavy weight on both of the unmoving figures. Eventually Tony stands up, picking the untouched cup up and setting it in front of Stephen with jagged, leaden movements as he mumbles lowly, “Right, yeah, I get that. Thank you for your hospitality. I’ll just… be on my way.”

Stephen considers telling him to come back as the brunette slowly makes his way towards the door but eventually decides against it until Tony’s halfway through the doorway, doors melting away for him. He keeps his eyes lowered until he makes a split-second decision, calling loudly, “I’ll be here at this time.”

Tony’s slumped posture straightens in an instant. and it’s with a somewhat fond smile that he watches him leave. 

_I would love you._

_____

“Hey,” Stephen mumbles, opening the door. He isn’t looking his best; there are dark bags under his eyes, his blue tunic is creased and his hair is limp and ungelled. Still he manages a smile, stepping aside to let Tony enter.

Tony, if anything, looks even more polished than usual. It’s evident that he’s spent a long time in his appearance, what with his Givenchy suit and slacks, Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses and some luxury leather slip-ons. His hair is shiny but carefully messed up and he’s shaved a tiny bit. The whole package, really. This is a package that _gleams_ , even in his sunlit room, and it would have cost an immense amount in shipping fees. 

Moving on.

He absentmindedly begins pacing the space, a careless beckoning of his hand telling the brunette to take a seat. Conjuring a porcelain cup of fragrant tea midair and sending it sailing towards Tony (who catches it, luckily; if he’d gotten it on Wong’s’ priceless Tibetan carpet… he doesn’t want to think about it) with a huff. Finally he sits down on the couch which Tony is awkwardly perched upon, much to the other’s visible surprise.

Stephen fakes a cough just to break the awkward silence, raising an eyebrow at the other. “It’s my couch. Well, the Sanctum’s, but anyways. Don’t look so taken aback.”

“Right, right. So, should we get down to business?”

“Before that… How’ve you been?” Too much tenderness seeps into his words, irritating him to no little extent. He hopes that Tony doesn’t pick up on it, but of course he does. Stephen sees it in the way the taut line of his lips relax and part momentarily.

Tony thankfully doesn’t comment on it, instead responding in a polite tone, “Mediocre, thank you for asking. Ms Potts and Peter have been fine as well.”

“Alright, that’s over with. I’ve thought it over, and I’d like to mention that I’ve taken into consideration that you’re regretting your outburst. Uh huh. It’s good that you were able to talk to me, though I’d rather you have discussed it with me much earlier before the, um, _incident_. Excuse my stutter,” Stephen mutters, not quite meeting Tony’s somewhat concerned eyes. 

“Have you slept?”

The question catches Stephen off-guard, and he blinks twice before stammering out some confused nonsense. 

Tony gazes at him, expression beginning the process of morphing into a frown. “I asked, have you slept?”

“Sleep? Yes, yes, sleep, of course I’ve slept, everybody sleeps,” Stephen waves a hand distractedly, waiting a moment before adding, “Of course.” Definitely helping his case.

He doesn’t expect calloused long fingers to tilt his chin, doesn’t expect to be met with a stern expression even as he tries to jerk away from the weirdly strong grip.

“Please. Your eye bags are as dark as my black Cartier watch strap, and that’s saying quite a lot. You’re not as attentive as you are usually. You’re rambling. When did you last get more than six hours of sleep?” Tony presses, staring at him with those goddamn beautiful eyes. 

Stephen manages to pull away, the shock of the unprecedented scenario passing. He rolls his own eyes, grumbling, “About two days ago.”

“And you’re still functioning? Strange, we talked about this. Saving the world is great and all, but we don’t want your sleep-deprived self accidentally teleporting a zoo into the battlefield like last time.”

“That was once!”

“Once is too many times. Plus, that isn’t even the point! You gotta sleep more, sweetheart.”

Stephen bites his lip, feeling his heart sink. He can hear Tony going on an elongated tangent of the benefits and necessity of letting your brain shut down for a bit, but he hears it only as background noise, like somehow comforting white static. Finally, he murmurs in a defeated tone, all the anger dissipating, “I’ll love you.”

“What?” Tony stares at him in disbelief and shock, head whipping around so fast that Stephen fears he’ll get whiplash. His overpriced sunglasses nearly fall off. Adjusting them quickly, he asks again, “What?”

“Deaf as well as blind, now?” Stephen scoffs, but his eyes are gradually becoming wetter and his voice is cracking ever so slightly. “I said I’ll love you. Even if this shatters, I’m still going to love you. You’re the one I’m still going to be completely, whole-heartedly in love with. It’s my choice if I want to risk myself for you. It’s my love, and it’s my life. Hell, _you’re_ my love, and you’re my life, and you’re a damn idiot if you think I’m just going to let that slip away from me on your account. I’m selfish, okay?”

“...You put a lot of effort into that. Full marks,” Tony says thickly, and Stephen smirks half-heartedly.

“Even thoughts of you are high-maintenance,” Stephen retorts before finally giving up the pretense and bursting into undignified, ragged sobs. The Cloak zooms into the room, probably having hovered around the staircase for a while, floating in the air before Stephen clutches at it with numb hands and starts to muffle his crying with the vaguely exasperated relic. The Cloak deserves better.

Tony chuckles, though that lovely sound is drenched with his own tears, “Looks like the Cape makes a good substitute for Kleenex.”

There’s a muffled _whack_ sound as the Cloak presumably slaps the other man. Stephen snorts at the frankly laughable situation, removing his face from the soft material. 

“Crying takes it out of you, doesn’t it?” Tony queries cheerfully, wiping his cheeks and somehow making that movement look graceful. Stephen just groans, knowing that this conversation’s going to go back to his unhealthy sleeping habits, and he’s correct. There’s an austere weight to the brunette’s gaze, and Stephen caves, opening a portal to his messy bedroom. 

Plus, having Tony around soothes his frazzled nerves, and he thinks that he might even be able to get a good night’s rest (actually, it’s about five in the afternoon, but Tony was right. Crying saps the energy out of your very soul) knowing they’re on better terms than before.

As fizzles of orange spark around him, blowing his pepper and salt hair melodramatically around like in a K-drama, Stephen smiles tiredly at Tony, “You can call me. Or… you could stay, not that I need you to.”

“I’ll stay,” comes the immediate reply, and Stephen can’t help grinning as blossoms of warmth unfurl in his chest. The expression is mirrored - almost shyly - on Tony’s radiant face,

“I’ll be honest with you, I was hoping you’d say that. See you in a bit?”

“See you in a bit. Sweet dreams, darling!”

_____

Stephen wakes up in his bed, laying there for a while as his mind groggily sifts through his memories, trying to make head or tail of why he’s here. He needs to work, research the Onyx Planet, translate an ancient script in something that looks suspiciously like Akkadian- 

-yet none of that seems important anymore. 

Currently, the only thing in his brain is that he should go down, check the time ( _check if he’s still there_ ), get some water. For the first time in what feels like a lifetime there’s a hopeful twinkle in his eyes as he starts the day, and it’s an invigorating sensation.

His hands shake violently, throbbing with pain, and he does his best to ignore the less-than-pleasant feeling in favor of changing his tunic. He admittedly employs mystical forces to do the mundane task, and when he’s finished, he clambers slowly down the stairs. 

An eyebrow rises of its own accord as he’s met with the sound of snoring, but a delighted smile is on his lips as he takes a seat in one of the chairs, looking with awestruck eyes at Tony’s snoozing form on the couch. _He actually stayed._

Yes, their discussion can wait until later. For now, he’ll just drink in the image of Tony sprawled on _his_ couch, in _his_ home, bathing in _his_ adoration.

Because that’s what it is. He has patience, he has love, and it’s all for Anthony Edward Stark.


End file.
